


Writer's Block

by Dogwood



Series: More Than Most [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirting, The Hissing Wastes, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:55:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogwood/pseuds/Dogwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric can't sleep, so no one else will, either. And offending Solas is like shooting fish in a barrel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writer's Block

Whomever had named the Hissing Wastes could retire early, content with a life that had rendered nothing but good to society at large.

The Wastes were a loathsome place. When the sand storms weren’t forcing grit into their lungs, or the mid day sun wasn’t searing every uncovered sliver of skin, the freezing nights would force the tiny Inquisition party into their bedrolls early, curled close to the fire for warmth.

What spindly tinder there was burned quickly and there was something twisted and unsettling about the gnarled trees they’d come across. Early on during their trip Lavellan had approached one with a view to harvesting firewood for the coming evening, but up close the idea seemed far less appealing and she’d retreated empty handed. They would have to rely on Solas’ magic until something less _haunting_ could be found.

The expedition - Blackwall, Solas, Varric and herself - had spent the last five days in said wastes, said oceans of rock and heat and frustration, and while they’d successfully destroyed enough red lyrium to really ruin someone’s day, they’d started to pay the price in exhaustion. When she dismounted her hart at the end of the day, Lavellen’s tired legs had simply refused to respond and she stumbled when she landed, twisting her ankle - enough to ache, but thankfully not enough to impede walking or out her as injured.

After a humble dinner in the dark of stale, uninspiring rations, Varric had drawn the shortest straw and agreed to take first watch. He settled in against a boulder worn smooth by the blowing sands while the others set out their beds and climbed in, too tired for anything more than a mumbled ‘goodnight’ or a ‘sleep well’.

She let the sounds of the desert wash over her and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breath evenly, to calm her frayed nerves. The fire crackled nearby and soon enough, Blackwall’s steady, reassuring snores began.

For a time she lay on her back, running over the events of the day in her mind, chastising herself for dwelling on them, then repeating the cycle all over again. It was the same every night until, having no other choice, her exhausted body relented and finally gave in to sleep.

Above them, the stars shone brightly, the clouds sweeping slowly across the vast expanse of sky.

“I need a favour.”

Varric’s voice was clear and uncoloured by sleep, speaking into the night casually, as if they were all playing a game of wicked grace and not attempting to sleep on cold sand in a region coated in giant spiders.

There was a beat of silence, broken only by the far off barking of a fox.

“…To whom are you speaking?” It was Solas, in the next bedroll over. Lavellan was surprised that he was still awake - she would’ve assumed he would’ve slipped easily into the Fade by now.

“To everyone who can’t sleep, which means you, Chuckles, and the lady Inquisitor over there.”

“Perhaps she _is_ asleep, and you risk waking her with your chatter.”

“She isn’t. She sleeps like shit if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have, but tonight may be the exception.”

“It’s just ‘inquisitor’, Varric, you don’t need to add the 'lady’.” Lavellan kept her eyes closed, but shifted under her blanket and bent her arm to lie against her hand, curled just under her cheek.

There was a note of triumph from the other side of the fire, followed by a tired sigh from somewhere by her head.

“What kind of favour?” She said, her voice pitched low enough to avoid rousing Blackwall, but just loud enough to reach Varric. 

She could hear him sit up straighter, the sound of his blanket being tugged closer around his shoulders.

“Alright, _so_. In the new book I have this elf character who has a pet bear -”

“Why would an elf have a pet bear?” Solas’ reply was immediate - she could hear the exasperation dripping from each word. It would’ve been enough to give her pause, but Varric continued, seemingly unperturbed.

“Found it in the woods when it was small, and now he rides it -”

“A bear steed?” 'Incredulous’ was the word she’d use to describe Solas’ new tone. Or vexed. Maybe even appalled.

Lavellan stifled a laugh against her arm, turning her head to press her mouth against the soft fabric of her sleeve.

“Do not encourage him, lethallan.”

“Everyone knows we don’t ride bears, Solas.”

“They do not, and knowing Mr. Tethras his book will become a bestseller and a whole new generation of humans will believe it, unquestioningly.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“It was not a compliment!”

“We haven’t arrived at the favour yet, Varric,” she said, breaking into the exchange before things got out of hand. “What happens with your… bear elf?”

“Well, they’re on the way through the Frostbacks when they find an enuvian-”

“Eluvian,” she corrected with a lopsided smile, wading in before Solas could. He was doing this on purpose now.

“…and go through, but on the other side nothing looks the same. Then they realize - they’ve gone _back in time_ -”

It was too much, even for Varric. A number of sounds broke the peace of the camp all at once - a delighted bark of laughter from Lavellan, a sharp scoff from Solas, and a thick, sleepy grumble from Blackwall, though the latter continued as he was, an arm draped over his eyes, his blanket askew.

“…no good?” Varric’s voice was thoughtful.

“Do not ask for my help in this.” There was a rustling of cloth and she opened her eyes to see Solas rolling over, shoulders rounded as he faced pointedly away from Varric.

“Tough crowd,” came Varric’s eventual reply. “Well. …I’m going to do a patrol, see what’s out there. If I’m not back in five minutes avenge my untimely death. And make sure the novella I have back at Skyhold gets released posthumously.”

Once the sound of Varric’s boots on sand had faded into the distance, Lavellan reached out, leaning forward to touch Solas’ blanket. He propped himself on his elbows, peering at her from under the dense grey knit. His brow was a deep furrow, though it relaxed somewhat as their gaze met.

“I’ll talk to him in the morning. Maybe I can convince him to keep working on that human romance novel,” she said. “It was… it had some heat to it. Cassandra will like it.”

Solas sighed again. "He was right in one thing, you have been sleeping poorly.”

Lavellan smiled, though it only just reached her eyes. “Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

Solas watched her for a moment, then, nimbly climbed to his feet and gathered his blankets in his arms.

“Where are you -”

He didn’t go far. The next moment he’d set them down next to her, careful to avoid blowing any sand in her direction as he smoothed out the bedroll. When he settled himself again under the worn blanket it was almost immediately next to her, and he met her confused look with a determined one, his voice barely audible.

“Have you asked for a sleeping draught? They are not ideal, and may prevent you from dreaming, but they may help for a time. It does not have to be a permanent solution.”

She pulled her blanket around her. “I haven’t yet, it would feel…”

“Asking for aid is not a sign of weakness, even for an inquisitor - quite the opposite.” Then, after a moment's thought. “I saw you dismount today. This will only become worse if you persist.”

Her mouth twisted at the memory, and she moved her foot, testing the ankle. "I’ll consider it,” she said after a pause, but his expression remained the same, persistent, unwavering.

“Alright! Alright. When we arrive back at Skyhold I’ll ask. Just…”

She reached from under the warmth of her blanket and pressed her fingertips to his forehead, gently pressing upwards until the knit brow faded into a warmer, friendlier expression. “There.” 

His resulting smile was patient, but not without some amusement. “It benefits us all when you look after yourself.” His own hand captured hers as she moved to withdraw it. “Myself included.”

To her surprise, he laced his fingers with hers and pulled them to his chest. Under the blankets she could feel the coarse weave of his outerwear, the thick, weather worn fur at his collar, and she smiled.

“Your hands are warm.”

“And yours are ice. If you’d simply learn to manipulate flame with your will, you wouldn’t have this problem, lethallan.”

“Was that a _joke_? Are… Solas, does this mean what I think it does? Do you have a sense of humour?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she could hardly keep the delight from it.

“This is incredible, we need to tell someone,” she continued, her broad smile taking on an uneven tilt. "Should I write Leliana?" 

He squeezed her hand, the heat of it warming her cool fingers. “I would advise against it - if you reveal my secrets, I may need to reveal yours.”

“And what are my secrets,” she said, adjusting the blanket to cover her arm.

She had scarcely finished speaking when he leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to her mouth, quieting a laugh and causing her heart to skip a beat.

Her thoughts went immediately (and unfortunately) to Blackwall sleeping nearby, but his snores stayed deep and even - the snores of a man somewhere else entirely, and for that she was eternally grateful.

Unlike the light brush of a kiss she’d given him in the Graves, this was a kiss more akin to the Fade, a kiss that encouraged others, and when he moved to pull away she lifted her mouth to his and slipped her free hand to his neck, fingertips light against the skin above his collar. He made a sound of encouragement, thought it was hardly needed.

She was considering what level of scandal she could risk when she heard the telltale sound of steps approaching the camp. Lavellan pulled away, their laced fingers slipping apart, hands retreating under their respective blankets. His brows lifted - a satisfied look that bordered on the mischievous- and Solas once more rolled over, settling in for the night.

“Did you see anything?” she asked Varric, after clearing her throat and leaning up on her elbows.

“Not a thing,” he said, resting Bianca against the nearest boulder and helping himself to his own blanket, and she couldn’t tell whether the grin he shot her was real, or a trick played by the light.


End file.
